


Magic Krayan 2.0: This Time It’s Curseonal

by squeezedoutofmiracles, starmaid



Series: Magic Krayan [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Afterlife, Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bravitz, Canonical Character Death, Conlangs, Dirty Talk, Drow, Drunk Sex, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Language Barrier, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magic Kravitz, Magic Krayan, Reapers, Sex on Furniture, Tieflings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeezedoutofmiracles/pseuds/squeezedoutofmiracles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starmaid/pseuds/starmaid
Summary: Kravitz paused, mulling it over, before deciding that giving a drow wizard grieving his own life alcohol couldn’t bethatbad of an idea, right?author is squeezedoutofmiracles (kraavitz on tumblr), editor is serannamyASS (starmaid on tumblr and Twitter)-Brian comes to an untimely death at the hand of some of the eternal stockade’s most wanted, and Kravitz needs some information from him to aid in their capture. Brian, freshly dead, seeks comfort in the oldest way, and Kravitz commits some unprofessional workplace conduct.





	Magic Krayan 2.0: This Time It’s Curseonal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pumpkin_Jellicle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pumpkin_Jellicle/gifts).



> This is a sequel to Magic Krayan: This Time It’s Curseonal but if you don’t want to read that then the basics are below.  
> Kravitz went to Wave Echo Cave after detecting lich activity there, ran into Brian instead. Brian caught him, flirted at him, and invited him for dinner, which Kravitz quickly forgot about.  
> Kravitz is a tiefling, Brian is a young adult drow. Or was. You’ll see. This was going to be a smutty sequel but then I got super invested and now it’s 14k and it gets sad.
> 
> -
> 
> Thank you so much to @starmaid on twitter and Tumblr for being my beta for this, and for motivating me and throwing some horrible curses in there that will make this fic forever dear to me. You are so talented and patient and rekindled my love in fic writing.

Kravitz walked from the mist, the soul cradled in one hand with his scythe held low in the other. 

The mist trailed from him, lingering in long lazy fingers that spooled together and curled back into the mass that sulked in the highest tower of the Eternal Stockade. The restless souls collected there, stirring, sulking. On occasion one needed to be fetched, and Kravitz would have to take the stairs up into the tower and fish out the life essence from this soul puddle, distantly related to the great shining soul sea, that contained information needed to bring someone or something to rights.

There had been a development on a long-standing stagnant case. It had climbed the ranks to the thickest case file on his desk, steadily growing fat with dead ends and red herrings. It regarded a trio that had died, collectively, more than eighty times. How? How had they possibly evaded capture for so long, evaded even their _notice_? The case had landed on his desk, a single white sheet of parchment pinned in place with a sharpened feather, neat black writing alongside it.

“Taako Taaco - eight deaths  
Magnus Burnsides - nineteen deaths  
Merle Highchurch-”

It got a little smudged there, a tell-tale blotch of a broken quill, and Kravitz had to squint to find the number.

“ _Fifty seven deaths_.  
Sort it out.”

A raven’s print at the bottom sealed the deal. Kravitz was bound by honour and duty to bring it to a close. He always drew great satisfaction in throwing the book at a necromancer who evaded death so blatantly. With a trail of destruction and a reawakening that blazing, surely there would be little difficulty in finding them?

Guess again.

Those fuckers were _ghosts_. And not even in the coy tee-hee I just made a lich joke way, there was nothing but _scraps_ of information on them, the absolute bare minimum. Something about a cooking show, and something else about a commune and a revolution, but it seemed like nobody at all knew anything about them, as if they’d all just wilfully forgotten their existence.

Up until they got a body count.

Kravitz was sat at his desk with his cloak hung up on the raven’s head coat stand, the black material trailing on the floor and spilling across the tiles. He was filling in paperwork. There was so damned much of it involved in condemning souls to the Eternal Stockade and helping other less damned individuals cross into the sea. Each name had to be confirmed with the date and the cause and signed in his own curly signature that skimmed the dotted line.

His eyes snagged on the cause of death.

“Wizarding duel, killing blow by Taako Taaco, assisted by Magnus Burnsides.”

His eyes went wide, and he lurched for the scroll of paper that had been pinned to the wall above his desk (with a sharpened raven quill, yes, very dramatic madame, it didn’t escape his notice) and pulled it free with a sharp tug, pulling it up close as his eyes flickered between the names. No mention of a Merle Highchurch. Had he been absent? Or just useless? Either way, two out of three was nothing to discount. Kravitz took the papers in hand and swept from the room, to the highest tower of the Eternal Stockade where restless souls sulked, to find the one tied to its bounty.

He walked from the mist with it cupped in his freezing hand, watching it shiver, surface barely held together with the tension that cupped around it. Truly restless and excitable, this one would be easy to tempt into talking.

A lingering thread of another soul was spooled up around a delicately pointed finger and cast back to the mass as he descended the stairs with it, brushing over it absently with the pads of his fingers. It was still warm. Kravitz’s mind spun with the details he would need to collect; what it could know, how it could possibly help his investigation. They had been duelling, maybe the soul knew the bounties he was trying to reap, or maybe it had been unfortunate to get in their way. It didn’t matter. If it knew nothing then it would be shepherded on to the sea, and passed over into the next life, it’s usefulness worn out.

His shoes clicked in the endless echoes of the main hall, a long table stretching down the middle made of the darkest ebony wood, cloaked in a long dark throw like an oil slick and set about with empty candelabras and chairs tucked in, stoic and imposing. It was a quiet and intimidating place to hold an investigation, completely alien to every soul they conjured there, enough to make them quietly follow orders and answer questions, realising they were completely, hopelessly out of their depth. Most of the time.

Pulling out a chair and setting it opposite him as he sat down, Kravitz cupped the soul in both hands and blew onto it softly, sending ripples over the surface of the mist and waking the consciousness inside it. He set it down on the surface of the chair opposite him. Well used to the process of the soul growing into a corporeal form, he averted his gaze, drew a quill from inside his robes and made a note on the death certificate he’d retrieved along with it: “Revived for questioning.”

A ragged breath was drawn next to him. He kept his eyes down on the paper, signing off the revival and drawing a firm line under it. Then he cast his eyes to the bounty he was hunting, memorising the details he’d scrawled on it, the scant information he’d gathered on the three of them.

With his eyes still on the bounty, he said, “You are summoned here today at the mercy of the Raven Queen, long may she reign, to assist in the capture and sentencing of three beings accused of the heinous practice of lichdom and necromancy. Your assistance will grant you levity when being sentenced, and your cooperation will-”

“All business, darling?”

Kravitz felt something stutter and ignite at the back of his mind. Something he’d worked through and buried under piles of parchment and bounties he’d chased for years... an accent that dreadful was really unmistakeable. He raised his gaze.

Brian looked far worse for wear. Thinner. Gaunt. His cheekbones cast shadows down to his jaw, his clothes were in tatters, hanging off him strangely, and his arms curled in around himself. His eyes were... dull.

Kravitz looked again to the certificate and back up to Brian, eyes wide.

“...So. Magic Brian isn’t your birth name?”

Brian paused. He choked out a wheezy laugh, covering his mouth and coughing into it, then pressing his hand back through his hair, trying to slick it out of his face. He shook his head.

“No, no darling. My parents had better taste than that, I am afraid.” He was shaking slightly. 

Damage from your life before followed you into the astral plane. Enough that you could function with it. But a reminder nonetheless. Dirt was left behind; he was as clean as the day his deity spawned him out into the world for the first time. But bits of him were broken. And not all the damage was from the duel that had killed him.

His bones cast shadows, collar showing sharply under the tunic, and his voice was soft and coarse. Shivering in the cool air of the dining room, he tugged at his clothing. With only the undead living in its halls there was no need for heating here, though a cavernous empty fireplace stretched twenty paces long behind the head of the table. It made for excellent lighting when the mood struck, but was only lit when they had honoured guests.

Kravitz found himself shrugging off his cloak before he fully realised what he was doing. He stood and swung the cloak around Brian’s shoulders, fastening the raven’s head clasp at his throat. Brian pulled the heavy ink-black fabric closer around himself and tucked his legs up under it, eyes darting over the shirt and waistcoat that Kravitz was left wearing.

“You must be freezing,” Kravitz said. “My apologies. I didn’t anticipate...” He trailed off and nodded to the fireplace. It flickered to life with a long plume of heat, engulfing the air above it and lighting up the room with dancing shadows, the cold emptiness of the hall chased away in an instant.

The manufactured unfriendliness needed to be gone, and Kravitz swallowed hard as he looked at the imposing high backed chairs and empty places. It seemed wrong, having someone he knew there at their table, looking so lost and out of place. After all the vibrancy of the last time they’d met, to see Brian looking so small and tucked into himself, lost in the folds of the cloak... It was all wrong.

“It is quite alright,” Brian said, a few grey fingers on show, playing with the edge of the cloak. His hair spilled out over the collar, straggly and twisted. “I didn’t plan to swing by. It was quite rude of me, really, showing up unannounced.” He looked about ready to disappear into the cloak entirely, and Kravitz found himself staring. Why did he care if this drow was comfortable? He was here to be interrogated. Not some dinner guest.

Although he did dress a lot better than some of the guests her Majesty invited around. Whoever Pan rolled up with tended to show up in worse repair than some of the undead they had to resurrect just to put back together.

“What a wonderful dining room,” Brian said. “I love the fireplace, dear, it’s very striking.” He gestured, even through the cloak and dampened by the heavy fabric, but with two slender grey hands poking out the front, adorned with rings that slipped about. 

He hadn’t been that thin when they’d last talked, surely.

“Is this about that necromancy misunderstanding?” Brian said, arching an eyebrow incredibly well. “I thought we cleared that up, darling, although I’ll tell you it was tempting to learn to get you to drop by again. You completely disregarded my dinner invitation. So rude.” 

“I... I’ve been busy. My apologies,” Kravitz said, running a hand back over his hair, trying to tame it away from his face. “The number of unfilled bounties are unprecedented. We really should hire another reaper but the qualifications are… specific.” He cleared his throat, glancing back at the papers he was meant to fill in. They seemed so clinical, so removed from the trauma that Brian had undoubtedly experienced.

Kravitz was in the very fortunate position of not remembering a lot of what had happened in his prior life. So he did not recognise many of the people he escorted into the afterlife, and so far nobody he’d questioned had been someone he’d met before. It was wildly different to have met them in person, and known how vibrant they’d been before. How experiencing death made the light go from behind their eyes.

“I suppose the death industry is busy, hmm? That is to say...” Brian glanced down at his hand. “I am dead, am I not?” He ran a finger over a deep cut in the side of his hand. It no longer bled or hurt. He felt only what the Raven Queen (and by extension, Kravitz) deemed him to feel, and in this room he felt a mild chill, no more. No corporeal pain. Unless required.

If that was what was needed to get answers, Kravitz would use it. He had before. But that wouldn’t be necessary. Not with this one, he was sure.

From what he could remember, Brian was very talkative.

“Yes. You died,” Kravitz said, smoothing his hands over the scrolls, trying to think. “Do you... remember how?”

Brian was inspecting his nails. “Hmm?” he said. “Oh, yes, that tacky elf and his entourage. It was a whole series of misunderstandings, I’m sure. Killian is lovely but she is quite headstrong.”

“Killian?” Kravitz pressed gently. “Is that the elf?”

“Oh, no no no, Killian is half-orc, she brought them with her, I assume. Or they were hired muscle. Very entry-level individuals.” His hand was shaking, and he tucked it inside the cloak again. “She came to collect an artefact I was protecting. And now, I believe, they have it. So you may be about to get a lot busier, I am afraid. My apologies.”

There was a moment of silence backed by the crackling of the fire, the warmth soaking into their bones. Brian smiled up at Kravitz, weakly, and it didn’t last long.

“What were you protecting?” Kravitz asked.

“A gauntlet. I was not told what it could do. And it was shut in a vault with a very specific locking mechanism.” Brian rubbed his eyes, found a cut on his forehead, and followed it with his fingers into his hairline. Kravitz reached out and took his wrist, guiding his hand back down. Their eyes met for a moment as Brian’s gaze flickered from Kravitz’s hand on his wrist to Kravitz himself. Neither moved away or broke contact.

There was a moment of stillness that stretched until Kravitz looked away, clearing his throat and releasing Brian’s wrist.

“I need to ask you about the tacky elf,” he said.

“Ask away, darling, I’m an open book.” 

Brian was leaning forwards, wearing an odd smile and resting his chin on the palm of his hand. Kravitz shook himself and turned his attention back to the scroll, picking up his quill again.

“Can you describe him for me?”

“Mmm. He had a very large hat.” 

Kravitz paused, waiting for more, but nothing came. So he wrote it down. “Anything else?”

“A cloak. And a wand, sad little thing. Very fond of magic missile.” Brian examined his nails again, chewing at his lip briefly. “I didn’t spend much time with them, you know.”

“No. Of course. And who was with him?”

“A human and a dwarf. The human was… tall, wide, obviously a fighter. The dwarf was bald. Didn’t do much.” 

Kravitz wrote down whatever he could get, quill scratching at the parchment.

“The dwarf had a farmers tan,” Brian added, playing with a strand of his hair, winding it delicately around one finger with a broken nail.

Kravitz dutifully added this to the list, frowning, trying to put together a mental image of this unlikely trio. Four of them, if you counted the woman who had no more description than “half-orc”. 

“I know this must be... painful, for you.” Kravitz said, trying to adopt an understanding demeanour. He paused for a second and then reached towards Brian, setting his hand on the table halfway between their chairs. Empathy had never been Kravitz’s strong suit, especially not in this job. “But if you can think of any more details, anything at all, it could be immensely helpful in tracking them down. They are incredibly powerful, they’ve collectively cheated death almost a hundred times, and they’re making my life very difficult at present.”

Brian shifted in his seat, eyeing up the hand between them. “They are not that powerful.”

“Well... I mean... They were powerful enough to kill you.”

It took him a moment to realise he’d messed up. Brian’s stare froze over in increments. His jaw set, hands stopping their restless shift in his hair or along the seam of the cloak. Kravitz could have sworn he could hear his own heartbeat in his eardrums, had he possessed one.

“He had an eighteen inch velvet wizard’s hat in cobalt blue with aquamarine detailing and dwarven-forged gold trim. Ten inch brim. The shaping was buckram, lining was Underdark spider silk. Exterior was crushed velvet and nine fragments of soul sapphire.” Brian didn’t take his eyes off Kravitz. He didn’t blink. He didn’t pause for breath. Kravitz’s eyes went wide and he reached for the paper, scribbling to keep up. “There is only one place that lines their hats with that silk, and it is grown in-house, at the milliners in Goreves. In the Underdark. I happen to know the breeder for their stock spiders, but you wouldn’t be interested in a detail like that, now, would you?”

When Kravitz looked up from some scrawled approximation of “Underdark hat shop???” with his jaw hanging open, Brian was still staring at him, unblinking, mouth set in a firm line.

“Not from someone so foolish to be killed by the likes of _them_?” Brian said.

Kravitz’s mouth worked like a fish out of water. He looked at his notes, which had spiralled away from the lines, webbing over the page with the exact specifications of Taako the Wizard’s hat, and the one shop it could be bought at.

“Brian, I... Where? Where did he get it?”

“Oh, you know, that might have slipped my mind.” Brian looked at his nails, though his hands were shaking more than ever. “My memory just isn’t what it used to be, nowadays. Such a shame. I wish I could be more useful, Mr Kravitz. I suppose you’ll have to send me back now.” 

Brian’s gaze read like a dare. It burned, and Kravitz was the first to look away.

“...I’m sorry,” Kravitz said. “I didn’t think.”

“Hmm.”

“I really appreciate your help. Truly.” Kravitz set his quill aside and placed a hand on the arm of Brian’s chair. “This is a very difficult case, and any information you can give me is invaluable.”

“Of course it is. That’s why I was resurrected, is it not? You want something from me and I give it to you, and then I go and die again. That’s my lot. Because I was stupid enough to be killed by… by a tacky wizard and his friends. A bald dwarf and some jock.” He looked off into the fire, brooding. He suited brooding, Kravitz thought briefly. Especially wrapped in a black cloak on an ebony carved chair.

But it didn’t sit right.

Kravitz swallowed, noticing the way Brian’s eyes glistened in the light of the fire. How his brows were pinched together, and how he trembled slightly, despite the warmth. Kravitz guessed that Brian was about one emotionally invested notion away from breaking to pieces.

“Would you like something to eat?” Kravitz asked, voice soft. He had learned better than to ask if someone was hungry. That led to the discovery that they could no longer experience hunger, which was a whole different tangent he didn’t want to stray down. “What was it you offered me when I stopped by?” He leaned a little closer to Brian, who remained unmoving and unimpressed on the chair. “I thought we were going to have snails?”

Brian afforded him a glance, and looked back to the fire, shifting slightly. “Donigarten moss snails.”

“That’s right. And mushrooms?”

“Velvet ear fungus. And Menzoberranzan black truffle rothe cheese.” Brian graced him with actual eye contact. “I would guess you do not have these in the pantry.”

Kravitz cracked a smile, leaning back a little. “The world is Her pantry, I believe. That’s what She said at midwinter solstice, at any rate.” He pushed his sleeves up his forearms, rubbing his hands together, trying to concentrate on the words. “If you could have anything in the world, which of those would it be?”

“...The snails,” Brian said, wary, watching Kravitz closely.

Kravitz held out a hand. “Pass me a feather? They’re in an inside pocket of the cloak. A small one will do, this isn’t a large favour.”

Brian’s eyebrows shot up. He reached inside the cloak, feeling around and fishing out a handful of glossy black feathers. They looked like frozen oil spills, iridescent in the firelight. Kravitz plucked out the smallest, holding it between his finger and thumb. A moment of concentration, centring himself, visualising his ties to the Raven Queen and clinging to them, and then he broke the feather in half and dropped it to the table.

Before it touched the wood, a silver platter materialised, landing perfectly in the space between them with a clatter of ink black shells on the polished surface. They were garnished with some kind of green-looking cheese, and black velvety folds of fungus gathered in clumps at the edge of the plate.

Kravitz straightened and picked up a fork with a black bone china handle from the places eternally set up. He gestured for Brian to do the same. It took more than a moment for Brian to stop staring, but he eventually stuck an arm from the confines of the cloak to pick up his own fork.

“This isn’t like fae food, I trust?” Brian said, looking wary as he brought a snail close and sniffed delicately. “If I eat it I go to hell?”

Kravitz picked one up and sniffed it himself, shaking his head. “No. This has no bearing on your judgement. I invited you into my workplace, and I keep you fed. Table manners don’t factor into your afterlife placement, no matter what your parents told you.”

Brian looked as if he almost wanted to grin, and tipped back the snail shell, slurping at the contents entirely inelegantly and dripping the dressing (butter? oil? something unmentionable?) down his chin. He set the shell aside, immediately reaching for another one.

“Are they good?” Kravitz asked, trying to work the meat out of his with his fork and wishing he had a napkin. The dressing was going all over his hands, and soon it would be on his work shirt.

Brian couldn’t answer, because his mouth was full of the second snail. Holding up a buttery thumb, he nodded, and a second shell joined the first. He chewed voraciously.

“By the eight legged beast, I haven’t eaten like this since I was...” He chuckled, catching some grease dripping off his chin and licking his fingers. “Very young indeed. It does remind me of harvest.” 

“Good.” Kravitz finally got some scrap of meat on his fork and popped it in his mouth. It was well flavoured, but chewy, and he tried not to frown as he worked at it, swallowing with an effort. He set the shell neatly aside and smacked his tongue a little, trying to disperse the flavour. 

Brian thought it was hilarious, snickering as he picked up another. “More for me, I believe.”

Kravitz nodded, licking his lips, eyeing the fungus and not sure he trusted it.

“Except you cannot only eat one.” Brian said. “Count the shells, darling, one for sorrow.” He knocked back his third and set the shell aside, lining it up amongst the others.

“How many do I have to eat?” Kravitz glanced at the tray, wondering if it was bad manners not to clear it, considering there were only two of them. 

“Well. One for sorrow. Two for joy.” Brian picked up another two, holding one out to Kravitz and all but forcing it into his hands. “Three for a girl.” He nodded to his line of three shells, and lifted the next. “And four for a boy.”

There was an absolutely outrageous eyebrow raise, and somehow Brian managed to maintain complete eye contact as he tipped back the shell and completely scooped out the contents with his tongue. Kravitz was left with his eyes wide, feeling like he had seen more than he was meant to. Brian gave a satisfied sigh and set the fourth shell down, nudging them all into place.

“And then it goes into a whole business of secrets and gold and silver,” Brian said. “And once you reach ten you start again, but I didn’t get this figure gorging myself on snails.” His eyebrows jumped in a very well executed wiggle, and Kravitz was left dumbfounded, closing his mouth and opening it again.

“Does the hospitality, by chance, extend to beverages?” Brian asked, batting his eyelashes very precisely.

Kravitz paused, mulling it over, before deciding that giving a drow wizard who was grieving his own life alcohol couldn’t be /that/ bad of an idea, right?

“I don’t see why not,” Kravitz said, standing up. “I’ll leave you to your snails. Her Majesty has quite a collection, and I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to crack one open.”

Brian looked like he’d scored some kind of private victory.

“The private reserves are in the cellar,” Kravitz said. “I suppose I can trust you to keep yourself occupied?”

Brian batted his eyelashes again, tilting his head. “You wound me, darling. Don’t you trust me?”

Kravitz made an uncertain and noncommittal noise, and turned to the grand archway that led to the rest of the stockade.

He swept down the corridors lined with narrow red carpets and high vaulted ceilings. There were countless ways to get lost in the labyrinth of the Eternal Stockade, with its high featureless walls of shining black stone, the unmarked red carpet that ran the centre of every corridor, and the noises that echoed from every direction, heralding the damned souls crossing into their plane. But Kravitz had worked within its walls long enough to know every corridor even in featureless darkness, and he wound his way down to the cellar, descending the stone steps where his cloak would usually have whispered his arrival, and he found himself marking its absence more than he would have liked.

There were a few spirits littering the ceiling of the wine cellar, lost wandering souls winding their way around. Kravitz watched one pool against a divot by the doorway as he moved in past the high wooden racks stacked with shadowed glass bottles, some that had laid untouched for centuries, but none dusty.

He moved in the direction of drinks sourced from the Underdark. Clusters of souls provided a dim glow off the necks of the bottles, and Kravitz moved to the furthest corner, where the glass of the bottles darkened. Blown from sand of the dark shores, the wine within was as dark and rich as the bottles themselves. They were all good quality. Who would dare sell less to a God? Much less a God of death? Stalling at a random point, under the glow of a particularly bright cluster of light so he could see what he was doing, he pulled out a vintage, eyeing the label. 

Wine had never really appealed to him. He enjoyed consuming it, but left picking and choosing the vintage to someone who had more time to spend on things like that. It didn’t have “poison” scrawled all over the label, so he was happy to drink it, and hoped that-

“Oh no, Zanfendl, that won’t do!” said a voice directly over his left shoulder.

Kravitz had done away with most of his startle reflex over the years. Which was good for Brian, otherwise he might have lost a significant chunk of his face, although the bottle did slip in Kravitz’s hands.

A hand covered Kravitz’s own in a smooth quick motion, supporting the bottom of the bottle. With a soft chuckle, Brian escorted the wine from Kravitz’s grasp and, with a sideways smile, fitted it back into place in the rack amidst a familiar ripple of Raven-blessed black fabric.

“There,” Brian said. “Even if it is trash, it is very expensive trash. And I would not think it wise to anger your employer. Especially given my current state, no?”

“Brian, I... I told you to stay upstairs. This isn’t... You aren’t allowed down here.”

Brian frowned, glancing at the souls above their heads rallying against the ceiling. “But they’re down here.”

“They don’t know better, they’re incorporeal. Brian, are you still wearing my-”

He was cut off by a sharp, excitable “Ooo!” as Brian reached over his shoulder, pressing against his front and forcing him back up against the wine rack, which jingled ominously as Brian strained excitedly for a high-up bottle. Kravitz held his breath. His cloak practically drowned Brian, and swamped the both of them against the rack. It rippled as Brian’s fingertips brushed the cap of the bottle and finally snagged it. He withdrew it and looked over the label, almost squealing with delight.

“Quikmavs! I’ve seen a bottle of this, in the flesh, _once_ , at Priva’s party. She was so very rich, you see, but I heard it was a fake. She was never very good with intentions but everyone knew how much she paid for it and that was rather the point.” Brian turned the bottle over in his hands, eyes aglow, fangs sticking out over his bottom lip just slightly. Kravitz found himself ignoring the words, simply watching as Brian rambled about the party he’d not quite been invited to, but gotten in anyway, and how the host was completely shown up when it came out that her supposedly designer outfit was somehow from last years collection, and it had all ended in tears and someone had stolen the wine and trashed the stables.

Brian cut himself off when he noticed Kravitz staring at him. He cleared his throat and handed the bottle over. “Apologies, I don’t-”

“It’s alright,” Kravitz said. “You’re very animated.”

Brian’s eyes widened and his mouth went soft as he looked up at Kravitz, and smiled.

“It’s a good thing,” Kravitz assured him, looking at the wine in his hands. “You tend not to come across much of that, in a place like this. It’s refreshing.”

There was, for once, no wise retort. When Kravitz glanced up to check Brian was alright, given his uncharacteristic silence, he was met with that same soft smile, and it did something funny to a heart that had long since stopped working.

A heart that kicked up a real fuss when Brian leaned up, slid a hand around the back of Kravitz’s head, and pulled him down for a kiss.

It felt like it burned for a year; Brian stretched up against Kravitz’s front, chest pressed to chest, wine bottle caught between them, and Brian was _warm_. His hand was warm caught in Kravitz’s hair and his lips were warm against Kravitz’s, and Kravitz felt the air more cold and keen when Brian pulled away, taking the wine bottle with him.

The silence didn’t seem to stretch nearly as long as the kiss had. Brian stood in front of him, looking up at him for a moment before turning away, trying and failing to hide a grin.

“You are not very good at that, I think,” Brian said as he set off back along the aisles of wine racks, gaze dragging over each bottle he passed, cloak whispering along the floor as he walked. No. As he _sauntered_.

Kravitz faltered, trying to take a step and somehow stumbling on nothing at all. “Good at what, exactly?”

“Oh. You know.” Brian spun around, just long enough for Kravitz to catch him winking, a finger pressed to his lips.

He got about twenty paces away before Kravitz realised he should be following him to make sure he left without taking anything. Kravitz’s boots clicked against the floor at a slightly more hurried pace than he would have liked, playing catch up with this undead drow that seemed to be running his shit all of a sudden. Brian hadn’t been a lich in his previous life, and Kravitz found himself immensely grateful about that. The runaround would have been legendary.

As they made their way back to the hall, they cultivated a comfortable silence. But every time Kravitz caught a glimpse of Brian’s face in the low light of the candelabras he saw that he was smiling to himself, fingers running over the lining of the cloak, and Kravitz felt the tips of his ears burning.

It was... Unprofessional. Horrifically unprofessional, for something like this to happen with a soul he was interrogating. He had never been explicitly told _not_ to do it, but the Raven Queen had employed him because he didn’t need the rules spelling out for him. He knew what he was meant to do, and how he was meant to act, to uphold Her reputation and the austerity of death. She didn’t NEED to tell him “Don’t offer the restless souls wine and ply them with foods from their homelands, and then kiss them in the cellars” because it didn’t need to be said.

Uncomfortable thoughts about the dynamic of the situation flitted around Kravitz’s head as he followed Brian back through the cool dim corridors of the stockade, thoughts about how he, Kravitz, had such absolute power over him, and soft questions on the idea of why Brian would do something as bizarre as _kiss_ him... But for the first time since Brian had been revived, he looked... well. Happy.

Kravitz couldn’t bring himself to feel too bad about the whole thing when he saw Brian brush a strand of hair out of his face and tuck it behind an ear, grinning as he lead the way back to the dining room with the cloak flowing behind him, like he’d grown up walking the halls.

The bottle was open before either of them sat back down. Brian had worked it open with his fingernails and pulled the cork out with his teeth, setting it on the table and licking his lips, sniffing at the bottle.

“Do you have glasses?” Brian said. “I’m not some feral animal, I have standards.”

Kravitz reached for two of the nearest place settings, pulling them closer and offering them to Brian, then moving the parchment out of the way so it wouldn’t get red wine spilled on it. That wouldn’t look good when the bounty was called in. Brian poured for the both of them, grinning as the wine glugged into the crystal goblets, filling it up with a deep rich red.

“So the cave you were in, when I met you,” Kravitz began, “is that where they-”

“Mm-mmm. Nope. That is not how this works,” Brian said, shaking his head and wagging a finger as he picked up his glass and clinked the rims together with a soft _ding_. “I have the cloak. So I will be asking the questions, I think.”

Kravitz blinked, faltering. “T-That’s not how-”

The quill was yanked out of his hand before he could protest further. The parchment followed, propped against Brian’s knees as he got comfy on his chair. He smirked wide and self-satisfied as he licked the nib of the quill and turned the parchment over, looking at Kravitz over the top of the sheet.

“I will be asking the questions now, Mr. Kravitz. If that is even your real name?” Brian arched an eyebrow, giving Kravitz an accusatory look.

Kravitz took a heavy swig from his wine glass, and refilled it. “That is my real name.”

“First or last?”

“Just Kravitz,” he said, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt and sighing. Seemed he’d need to get comfortable for this. The questions undoubtedly weren’t going to stop coming.

“I see, Just Kravitz. Very interesting.”

Brian wrote something down, looking very pleased with himself.

“And how did YOU die, Kravitz?” He gestured with the feather of the quill, reaching for his drink and taking a sip.

“I don’t remember,” Kravitz said, raising his eyebrows briefly.

“Hmm. Do you smell that, Mr Kravitz?” Brian sniffed the air. “It smells like-”

“It’s not bullshit,” Kravitz interjected, sounding fairly tired. “I’ve used that line before, Brian, it doesn’t get people to talk.”

“Hmm. You’re no fun,” Brian said, pouting briefly, sipping at his drink again. “Does wine?”

“Depends on the wine. And the people.”

There was a moment of stillness during which they shared a glance, and Brian grinned. He seemed to be enjoying this far too much.

“Then I think you should top up your glass,” he said, taking another sip.

Kravitz gave a dry chuckle, and reached for the bottle.

“Why do you not remember, Mr Kravitz?”

“It happened a long time ago. And it wouldn’t help me do my job, wallowing in self pity.” He drank the wine, closing his eyes for a moment and opening them to find Brian still watching expectantly. Gods, this was not going to be easy. “I don’t remember anything, except what she tells me. I wanted to be a conductor. I didn’t have a family. I never married. I died traumatically, and I don’t know if it was an accident. So you can steer clear of all those topics, because they’re dead ends.” He swigged his drink again, avoiding Brian’s prying eyes.

“Do you want to know those things?” Brian asked, tilting his head slightly. His eyes seemed softer than before.

Kravitz paused, glancing back to him, and away into the fire. “Sometimes. And then I get over it. They’re not helpful thoughts, and I like my work well enough to ignore them.”

Brian watched him, far too quiet and sympathetic for Kravitz’s liking, who took another swig of his drink and averted his eyes again.

“Sounds unreasonable,” Brian said, leaning forward a little.

“It’s part of the job. I can’t refuse to reap someone if they’re… my niece. Or something.”

“You have a niece?” Brian said, voice soft. Too soft. Sorry for him and wavering in the middle.

“How am I supposed to know?” Kravitz said, looking straight at him. “She’d be dead by now, anyway. Her children too, if she had any. Tieflings don’t live forever.” He looked down into his cup, squeezing the stem tighter. 

“Kravitz, dear, how old are you?” 

A hand appeared over his own. His eyes had got misty, and there was a lump in his throat that hadn’t been there before. He swallowed down around it hard. 

“About six hundred. I’ve stopped counting.”

“Oh my.”

Kravitz chuckled softly, looking up at Brian’s lax expression. “Tieflings aren’t meant to live this long. It’s not right. I don’t know how you manage it.”

Brian gave a soft giggle, squeezing his hand. “I didn’t. Remember?”

There was a moment where all their breath caught and the air seemed to shift slower between them. Kravitz broke it with a startled giggle, covering his mouth for a second as he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to prevent tears spilling out. God, those feelings were foreign. He kept them at such careful distance. Now it felt like they were re-forging emotional pathways, burning connections in his mind open again, hurting in ways he hadn’t felt for... Well. For a lifetime.

Brian stood up, cloak hanging heavy around him. He set the quill and parchment aside and stepped closer to Kravitz; wrapping his arms around Kravitz’s shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. Kravitz let him, leaning his head against Brian’s chest, sighing when Brian’s hand traced down his back slowly. A hum reverberated soft in his chest.

“Thank you,” Kravitz murmured, wondering for a sickening second what in the world would happen if her majesty walked in now, on this, seeing him fraternising with one of their charges. Brian would be disappeared forever, certainly, to a place Kravitz couldn’t reach, and he himself would be judged most harshly.

The whirling thoughts were interrupted by a heavy softness as Brian set himself down in Kravitz’s lap, legs slung over the arm of the chair, leaning against him and threading his fingers up into his hair. Brian breathed slow, though he didn’t need to, and Kravitz listened to it, eyes shut and forehead pressed to the ripped spider motif on his tabard.

After a long aching moment he wrapped his arms around Brian’s waist, stroking his thumb over his ribs, startlingly present, sharp through his skin. Felt like he could trace the space between them with the tip of a nail, like he could count them out and run his fingers the length of each one, storing secrets in the spaces between them.

A soft warm hand landed on his cheek, and his eyes fluttered open as Brian slid two fingers under his chin, a thumb dancing over his cheekbone. When Brian leaned in to kiss him it was welcome. Kravitz leaned into it, arms tightening around Brian incrementally, pulling him closer. He tasted like red wine when his lips parted and his tongue slipped into his mouth, and when his breath shuddered past Kravitz’s lips it chased a shiver down his spine, something in his stomach pulling tight.

Brian kissed him slow, a hand stroking from his back into his hair, sliding through it and snagging on the tangles, pressing deeper until he was cupping Kravitz’s head, holding him tight and close as he kissed him and sighed into his mouth. Brian’s hands were soft, reverent, and something in the back of Kravitz’s mind reminded him that nobody had ever seen fit to touch him like that before.

Brian dragged his lips to Kravitz’s cheek, his jaw, and Kravitz found himself tipping his head back to allow for Brian’s mouth to play at the point where his neck met his jaw. Kravitz shivered when Brian’s tongue pressed up against it, and he splayed his hands against Brian’s back. Oh, hells. That was a clever mouth. A soft sound found its way past Kravitz’s lips, unbidden, and he felt Brian giggle against the skin of his throat. Brian’s hand trailed up to Kravitz’s hair again and slowly pulled tight, tongue against his throat as he kissed him, and Kravitz felt the sensation race straight down his spine to a pang low in his stomach.

“Gods…” he murmured when Brian pulled away and took up his drink. Kravitz took a deliberate breath and picked up his own glass, trying to stop his mind from running off.

“It has been a while, hmm?” Brian smirked into his drink, eyebrows dancing, eyes seeming darker and heavier than before. They seemed to bore right into Kravitz, pinning him in place, and he found himself draining his drink, pouring the both of them another. They were going to be through with the bottle in short order.

“I don’t think I’m at liberty to discuss that, Mr Brian.”

Brian snickered, sipping from the full glass and setting it aside before lifting his hand to Kravitz’s cheek and leaning back in, capturing his lips with a mouth that tasted freshly like wine. It was a deep messy kiss that had their tongues pushing up against each other, drawing a shudder ( _finally_ ) from Brian. He moved closer, a hand sliding down Kravitz’s chest to grab the edge of his waistcoat as his tongue pressed into Kravitz’s mouth, flicking against his and tempting a soft moan from the both of them as Kravitz shuddered under his hands, fresh and raw and melting under his touch. 

Gods, he was getting hard. He could feel it, under the weight of Brian’s thigh, the way the drow pressed down against him, shifting in a lazy twist as he pulled him in for another kiss, no intentions of slowing down any time soon. 

“You like it?” Brian murmured against his lips, opening his eyes just a little, so all Kravitz could see was his lashes, expression dreamy and contented and so _so_ pleased with himself. 

“I… you’re very good at this.”

“I know,” Brian breathed, lips parted as he chuckled softly.

Kravitz ran a hand up into Brian’s hair, pushing it out of his face and tucking it behind his ear. Brian leaned into the touch, and Kravitz cupped his cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone, admiring how he looked with his eyes shut and his lips parted, leading to some very unholy thoughts as Brian’s tongue slid over his lips, and he blinked all slow and sultry. He was definitely trying to look seductive, and it was working just _perfectly_.

Kravitz leaned towards him, hand against Brian’s cheek, guiding his head back to expose his neck, and kissed it slowly. The noise this drew out of Brian had Kravitz squirming in uncomfortably tight trousers; a full-throated moan as Kravitz’s teeth brushed against his skin. Brian shifted against him, thigh pressing down slow and deliberate, interrupting Kravitz’s careful attention as he was forced to draw a sharp breath. The warm pressure grinding down against him was a _deliberate_ distraction, judging by the low chuckle moments before Brian leaned in to kiss him again, and Kravitz’s hand flirted between waist and hip until Brian smirked against his lips and caught his wrist, guiding his hand to the inside of his thigh, his breath catching as Kravitz’s hand settled there.

Kravitz ran his thumb over the thin material of what had once passed for Brian’s pants. Torn in places, probably snagged on rocks, the skin underneath was perfect and smooth and soft to the touch when his thumb skimmed it, and the way Brian arched his back when he pushed his hand up his thigh made Kravitz want to go further.

“Are you OK with…?”

“Mmm, yes, yes, God yes.” Brian rocked against him, kissing him hungrily, tongue flicking into his mouth, ass pressing against cock through his pants; way too many layers of clothing for Kravitz to be happy with in that moment. He felt hot, burning hot, and with a mumble of apology he took his hands off Brian just long enough to fumble out of his waistcoat, cursing each button as it ate up time, shrugging it off into the chair. He was left in his shirt and pants, as Brian kept on every stitch of clothing.

Brian’s hands returned to Kravitz’s chest, pushing him back as he shifted slightly on his lap, relieving the pressure that Kravitz missed the second it was gone. He tried to lean closer when Brian pulled away, but was shoved back into the chair with more strength than he would have expected the spindly drow to possess. Elves and their unsuspecting strength had caught him off guard more than once, but never in a situation quite like this.

Kravitz’s eyes went wide when Brian got down on his knees, hands pressing Kravitz’s thighs apart as he went for his belt, tongue pressed to his lips.

“Brian, you don’t-” Kravitz leant forwards, eyes wide, pressing a hand to his cheek. “You don’t have to, it’s fine, really, don’t feel like you need to-” He cut himself off with a choked noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan as Brian turned his head to kiss his wrist and palm. They locked eyes, and Brian took Kravitz’s thumb into his mouth, sucking on it softly. Brian’s eyes slid shut, lashes heavy and dark. His hands pressed up Kravitz’s thighs to his cock, working it slow through his pants, chuckling to himself at the lax expression on Kravitz’s face.

“Do you want me to?” Brian asked, hand slowing, pausing for permission.

Kravitz was dumbstruck, struggling for words, only knowing how incomprehensibly good the hands on him felt, and how warm and soft Brian’s mouth had been, and how _bad_ he wanted it on him again.

“Kravitz. Come on, now, use your words.” Brian smirked, squeezing him slowly, earning a moan.

“Yes, yes, oh fuck, I want it, I do…”

Brian’s smirk grew. He began undoing Kravitz’s belt slowly, palm pressed to the hardness in his pants until he had them pulled down over his hips. Having caught his underwear along with them, Brian slipped them both down his thighs. Brian’s eyes glinted in the low light of the dancing fire pit when they finally came skin-to-skin. His palm rested against the inside of Kravitz’s thigh as he leaned in and slowly wrapped a hand around his cock, thumb pressing to the head. Kravitz gasped and arched in the chair, shutting his eyes with a white knuckle grip on the armrest. He moaned unbelievably loudly when Brian pressed his lips to the underside of his cock, kissing him softly, snickering when Kravitz looked down at him with parted lips, panting.

“Easy,” Brian almost purred. “Come on, now, this is supposed to be fun.”

Brian parted his lips, sliding his tongue along the length and planting a light teasing kiss to the tip. He worked slowly, grinning every time he glanced up and caught Kravitz’s eyes. It took too much teasing and light kisses for him to finally take the head into his mouth, sucking softly, dark lips pressed as Kravitz covered his own mouth with a hand and gasped. One of his hands went to Brian’s hair to tangle in it as he watched Brian take him, mouth soft and hot and wet, tongue pressing up to the underside of his head as one hand urged Kravitz’s thighs further apart. Brian worked him slowly, softly, drinking in his helpless expression as he fell apart under his careful ministrations, loving every weak and desperate noise Kravitz made as Brian took him a little further, or pulled off and left him cold, let him gasp for it.

“God, you’re good, feels so good…” Kravitz whispered, brushing Brian’s hair from his face. Brian grinned up at him and twisted his hand around Kravitz’s spit-slick cock, giggling as he made another helpless noise, hand going tight in his hair. Brian groaned, stroking Kravitz harder, nodding his head and leaning away from the grip, just a little.

“Yes, just like that, that’s good…” Brian murmured, eyes heavy lidded as Kravitz squeezed his hand tighter in his hair. Brian moaned loud, spreading his thighs further so his tabard spilled between them. 

“Gods, you love it-” Kravitz moaned, a realisation he hadn’t meant to voice, but Brian nodded eagerly as he pressed his mouth up against Kravitz’s cock, sucking at him harder. “Y-you love being down on your knees for me,” Kravitz ventured, cock throbbing when Brian closed his eyes and moaned, nodding, tongue working as he took Kravitz back into his mouth, eyes flickering open as he gazed up through his lashes, nodding again. “Love my cock in your mouth, love me pulling on your hair,” Kravitz breathed. “Look at you, so fucking pretty…” He gave a startled gasp as Brian moaned around him, having to concentrate very hard not to let his eyes roll back as he pulled on Brian’s hair.

Brian had to pull off, gasping, whimpering something breathless and looking up to Kravitz, stroking him hard.

“Fuck, yes, yes, I love it, fuck my mouth, please, _please_.” Brian opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around Kravitz’s cock, soft and warm and full and wet, his own hand straying between his thighs as he moaned. Kravitz gathered up Brian’s hair in one hand, pulling on it firm and hard. 

Fuck, god, Brian was a mess, spit slicking down his chin as he gasped, tongue pressed to Kravitz’s cock, hand stroking faster, moaning as Kravitz’s hips bucked up into his mouth. Kravitz held Brian’s hair tight and watched as Brian’s eyes stayed heavy lidded, a hand under his tabard trying to grant himself some relief. Kravitz moaned for him, fucking his mouth, getting closer and closer each time Brian moaned around him.

Brian’s hair was fucking everywhere, falling out of the grip in Kravitz’s hand as he twisted it around his fingers, yanking against his scalp and sending shivers down his spine, cock throbbing in his hand as he looked up at Kravitz through his lashes. He moaned when Kravitz shuddered and came in his mouth, the grip on his hair going lax. He watched Kravitz go tense in the chair, smirking as he moaned his name.

Brian coaxed him through it, pulling away slowly and grinning up at Kravitz. Kravitz slung a hand over his eyes and breathed deep, taking a moment to lie back and reevaluate everything that had led up to this.

“Are you quite alright, darling?” Brian chuckled, wiping his chin on the back of his arm and tapping Kravitz on the knee to draw his attention. Kravitz looked down, weary, petting mindlessly at Brian’s hair, right up until Brian opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, showing off the mouthful Kravitz had given him.

Kravitz yelped, extremely undignified, and covered his eyes. Brian almost choked laughing, swallowing hard and reaching for the wine, taking a hard swing of it.

“Darling, where did you think it went?”

“You’re. Disgusting.”

Brian snickered, taking another sip of wine, enjoying the other’s afterglow far too much. Kravitz could feel the smugness reverberating off him, and wanted to sink back into the chair and never have to confront it.

“Did you get any on my cloak?” Kravitz murmured, peering through one half-open eye. Brian cast a glance over himself and shrugged the cloak off onto the floor, letting it pool in a half-moon around him.

“I don’t think so. You did say it yourself, I am very good at this.” He sipped his drink as Kravitz collected himself. “Though I must say, I did think you’d be more interested in what was under it.”

Brian could almost see the wheels turning in Kravitz’s head, not hopped up on excitement and expectation any more. Lazy in the afterglow, he looked at Brian and raised an eyebrow.

“If it measures up to the rest of you I’m sure it’s just fine.”

“Just fine?” Brian scoffed, draining the wine and setting the glass on the table. He reached for the edge of his tabard and started undoing the side lacing. “I’m hurt. Really, darling, just fine?”

“Spectacular,” Kravitz offered, words slow, though he was smirking. “Show-stopping. Mind blowing.” He watched as Brian pulled the tabard off and cast it aside, letting it fall to the floor in a shimmer of spider shaped appliqué.

“Hmm. That’s more like it.” Brian stood up, boots hugging his calves as he pulled off his undershirt. He smiled to himself as he tossed his hair free and sighed, dropping the shirt into the pile. He stood in front of Kravitz, weight slung over one foot, hands up in his hair. “I do still think we can do better?”

“I’m sure we can,” Kravitz murmured, thighs still spread, watching Brian move with a low smile. “How about gorgeous? Or is that too easy?”

“I’ll accept it but you are on thin ice,” Brian said, setting his hands on the arms of the chair and leaning over Kravitz; hair cascading over his shoulders, smirking until Kravitz set a hand on his cheek and leaned in to kiss him, slow, savouring it. 

“My apologies,” Kravitz murmured, setting a hand on Brian’s waist, thumb stroking the bare skin there. Flawless. Kravitz pushed one hand into Brian’s hair, gathering it out of his face. The other he trailed across Brian’s chest, fingertips light over his breast bone, skimming to the side to brush his nipple. Kravitz pressed a kiss to Brian’s ear as he shivered, stroking his thumb over his nipple. “You’re beautiful. Obviously.”

Brian whimpered, a sound entirely too weak and needy, and turned his head to kiss Kravitz’s neck. Ardent, desperate. “Please…” Brian whispered, whimpering again when Kravitz kissed his ear once more; light, teasing, dragging his tongue along the edge.

“Sensitive?” Kravitz said, voice low, hand on Brian’s shoulder, admiring his smooth grey skin that shifted over what was left of his muscles. Brian nodded, lips parted and breathless. Kravitz kissed his jaw, sliding both hands up to cup his face and guide him closer. “Come on. Let me have you.” He let Brian climb into his lap, pants still on, cock straining against them. When Kravitz’s hand stroked slow down his back, coasting over the curve of his ass, Brian groaned.

“Talk to me,” Kravitz said, finger and thumb catching Brian’s jaw, making him meet his gaze. His eyes were wide and dark, lips flushed, chest rising and falling with shallow flutters. Kravitz could feel Brian’s heart pounding in his chest, see the pulse fluttering in his throat, and he wanted to chase it with his lips.

“Fuck me. Please.” Brian gasped, arching closer, pressing his ass into Kravitz’s hands.

“Brian, I just came, I’m not fucking anything for a few hours.”

“That sounds like a you problem, does it not?” Brian growled back through gritted teeth. “It’s not my fault-”

“I think you’ll find it’s entirely your fault.” 

Brian whined spectacularly, interrupting himself with a gasp when Kravitz slipped a hand under his trousers, fingers resting between the curve of his ass.

Kravitz raised an eyebrow. “You like that?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Brian nodded, gasping against Kravitz’s cheek, cock throbbing in his pants. 

“You want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

“God, oh God, yes, please.” He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut as Kravitz teased his fingertips over him, skimming, never going that little bit further, and driving him absolutely mad.

“I don’t have any lubricant,” Kravitz said, pausing a second. “Not here. I don’t... need it often.”

“Don’t you stop.” Brian gritted his teeth and looked up at Kravitz, eyes dark. “Don’t you dare.” 

“I’m absolutely not doing it dry. No way. We can do something else, I’m not hurting you.”

Brian pulled away with a noise that sounded like it hurt. He clambered off Kravitz’s lap, going to his pile of clothes. Kravitz leaned back in his chair, sighing, mulling over the fact that it had been nice while it lasted, until Brian pulled a book out of the pile. 

A fucking grimoire.

“Brian, what is-”

“Shh.” 

Brian scowled at the pages, swaying a little in place as he walked back over to stand in front of Kravitz, brows furrowing as he flipped to conjuration, muttering to himself. “Ice slick… no… vibrations, hmm. No. Ah. Grease.”

He looked _far_ too happy with the word “grease”; head snapping up, eyes fixed on Kravitz, whose thighs snapped together on reflex.

“Brian, no.”

“Slick grease covers the target for up to a ten foot square centered on a point within range and turns it into difficult terrain for the duration,” Brian chimed, snapping the book shut with a decisive clack, swaying his hips in time with the syllables of “difficult terrain”.

“Ten feet is, frankly, excessive,” said Kravitz.

“Up to ten feet, darling.”

“Brian, please, I don’t want you casting anything on me, you’re drunk.” 

“I’m not drunk, sweet, it takes more than a single bottle of that swill to intoxicate me.” He tossed the book back onto the pile of discarded clothes, cracking his knuckles and his neck. “This might be unpleasantly cold, hold tight-”

“I swear in Her name, I will walk. Please, just conjure a bottle.”

Brian looked as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him, swirling gold magic already flittering at his fingertips. He frowned, pulled a face, and then snapped his wrist in a sharp sideways motion. A split second later he grabbed a long-necked slender glass bottle from thin air and held it out to Kravitz with a sigh.

“You’re boring.”

“By the Gods,” said Kravitz, taking the bottle and uncorking it, sniffing at the contents. He absolutely did not trust Brian in this moment, and was pleasantly surprised when the contents smelled like lavender. 

Brian pouted as he clambered back into Kravitz’s lap, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and leaning in to kiss the side of his throat, making a soft, low noise, almost an apology. Kravitz turned the bottle over in one hand, his other hand going to the back of Brian’s head to once again play through his hair softly. 

“I take it that didn’t sufficiently kill the mood?” Kravitz murmured.

Brian snickered against his jaw. “It will take more than that,” he muttered, accent extremely pronounced in this state; half-way tipsy and all-the-way horny.

“Oh I’m glad,” Kravitz said, setting the bottle aside on the table and running his hands up Brian’s thighs, listening to him make a low needy noise. Brian kissed his jaw, tongue stroking over his skin and sending shivers through him. Kravitz’s hands settled on Brian’s ass, and Brian made a noise of obvious approval, groaning when Kravitz squeezed slowly, chuckling up against his ear.

“You want me to fuck you like this?” Kravitz murmured against his ear, a hand heavy on his hip, the other circling his thigh. Brian gasped and nodded. “You want me to pull your hair and make you cum?” 

“God, yes…” Brian gasped. Kravitz slipped a hand under his pants, moving slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world, and wouldn’t be spurred on by Brian gasping and arching his back, pressing up against him, moaning right near his ear. It was... Delightful.

“I want you on your back,” Kravitz said, voice low and rough, near Brian’s ear. “I want you on your back with your thighs spread for me, would you like that?” 

Brian moaned sharply, nodding, glancing around immediately for somewhere to do that, and they both settled their eyes on the dining table at the same moment. Kravitz stood, one hand on Brian’s thigh and the other on his back as he lifted him in a single swift movement, setting him down between two place settings and leaning against him, kissing him heavy, sweeping aside the plates and pushing him to lie back on the deep black tablecloth, propping himself over him. 

Brian fucking loved it. He arched off the table, pressing his chest up against Kravitz’s, thighs pulling tight around his waist, hair splayed around the table behind him, chest heaving, cheeks flushed as he reached up to undo Kravitz’s shirt buttons, loosening his tie in a fumbled motion and working on the next button down.

Kravitz’s hands went to Brian’s trousers, palm between his thighs for a moment, smiling to himself at the noise of absolute animal desperation it drew from Brian, whose fingers stuttered and stalled at the last few shirt buttons. It came off with three sharp pops as the buttons flew across the table, never to be seen again.

Kravitz shrugged it off, struggling out of it as he kissed Brian hard, tongue stroking against his lips and fumbling for the buttons at the side of Brian’s trousers, undoing them with a well practiced dexterity. The pants came halfway down until he ran into the boots, cursing, struggling with the laces and yanking them off, throwing them aside a little too hard. Then he pulled the pants down, Brian wriggling to help him get rid of them. Kravitz set a hand on each thigh, holding them apart as Brian lay back for him, chest fluttering with anticipation. Kravitz leaned in and placed a hard sucking kiss on the inside of his thigh.

Brian almost howled, throwing his head back, gasping, pleading, fingers knotting in Kravitz’s hair and yanking on it as he bucked his hips up, stilled by a heavy hand. Kravitz glanced up at him, smirking against his skin, and let go with a grin to himself, his fang marks clearly pressed against the skin and a dark bruise already coming up.

“Fuck, fuck, Kravitz, please, _please_ , not fair, this, this isn’t fair,” Brian panted. Kravitz smoothed a hand over the mark, Brian whimpering as the sting was brought up fresh and sharp, shuddering and tipping his head back, showing off his throat. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Kravitz growled against Brian’s throat, kissing him again, teeth pressed to him as he held his thigh tight against his hip, glancing over to the bottle still sitting on the side and drawing it closer. Brian’s eyes went wide when he saw it. Kravitz pulled away and stood up straighter, uncorking the bottle with his teeth and fixing his eyes hard on Brian.

The contents of the bottle spilled out over Kravitz’s fingers, beautifully, perfectly slick and iridescent in the low light. He set the bottle aside and leaned over Brian again, stroking two fingers over Brian’s ass, in the curve between his cheeks, and felt him shudder in anticipation. Brian’s cheeks were flushed, and he was in a near-constant mantra of “please, fuck, _God_ ” as Kravitz teased his fingers over him.

“Greedy,” Kravitz muttered, circling his fingers around as Brian whimpered, thighs spread under him, cock hard against his belly. 

“Please, Kravitz, please…” he whispered, breath coming hot and fast, and when Kravitz finally sank a finger into him he gasped sharply, biting his bottom lip and pressing his nails into Kravitz’s shoulders.

“Relax,” Kravitz murmured, rocking his finger into him. Brian moaned, rocking his hips with it, digging his heels into Kravitz’s lower back and moving with him. He kissed him, Brian trying to go hard and fast and full of teeth while Kravitz pushed him to slow down, pressing a second finger in alongside the first and fucking him slowly.

Brian panted against Kravitz’s lips, body rolling in time with the thrusts, gasping when he felt Kravitz’s fingers hilt in him, looking up at him with eyes bright, teeth worrying at his lower lip, moaning softly.

The oil stayed slick, spilling over Kravitz’s fingers and dripping on the table, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not when Brian looked this good writhing under him, felt so hot and tight around his fingers, sounded so good, voice echoing around the walls of the great dining room. Brian kissed him, desperate and eager, tongue against his lips begging for entry, trying to coax Kravitz into a frenzy, gasping, hips hitching out of rhythm as he felt himself growing close, cock twitching.

“Fuck, ah, Kravitz, Kravitz, I-” He gasped when Kravitz snapped his hand up against him harder. Brian clenched around him, shuddering, writhing, shoulders pressing back into the dark wood of the table as he lost himself in the moment, in the cool air of the huge echoic room. Every moment dripped with sparks shuddering up his spine, head thrown back, thighs tight around Kravitz’s hips, gasping and digging his nails into Kravitz’s back again. He dragged them downwards, making Kravitz hiss, wishing more than anything that someday he’d get a chance to do this to him with his cock, and rail him into the fucking table.

Brian came with a louder noise than he had any right to, moaning and throwing his hair back, and pulling Kravitz in tight with his nails raking hard down his back, drawing lines against deep coloured skin, cumming white against the deep grey of his stomach as his hips twitched, shaking as Kravitz rocked his hand inside him. Kravitz smiled to himself, watching Brian shudder, listening to him cry out as he came, and how he went boneless and useless on the table all in a slump, chest heaving with exertion, arms falling to the table beside him. 

Kravitz pulled out of him, reaching for a napkin and wiping his fingers off, sitting back a little and watching how Brian lay exactly where he was and shut his eyes, trying to breathe it off. Kravitz chuckled, leaning over to kiss Brian’s forehead.

“You’re very pretty when you finish,” he murmured, stroking Brian’s hair out of his face again. 

Brian made a weak noise of protest. “I’m always pretty,” he said, in a disturbingly thick accent.

Kravitz chuckled again and reached for another napkin, wiping the residue of the oil between Brian’s thighs and the pale lines of cum on his stomach, glancing at Brian as he lay back with his eyes closed, breathing deep.

“You can’t fall asleep here,” Kravitz said, balling up the dirty napkin and putting it with the rest, vanishing them with a flick of his wrist and reaching for his shirt, pulling it back on.

“Thatingo skra,” Brian slurred, waving his hand dismissively and rolling his R’s. Kravitz blinked, and it took him a moment for him to realise Brian wasn’t speaking common any more. 

“Speak common,” Kravitz said, patting Brian on the thigh and raising his eyebrows. “I know you can.”

“Skidek epa pha, ana phumtim purtum,” Brian added, cracking open an eye just barely, looking immensely smug. Kravitz thought back to a stint he’d had in the Underdark, when he’d had to herald over a big volume of souls, and learned a little of the language to help things along. Brian had just said “Do you speak Drowic? I think not.”

Kravitz took Brian’s jaw in his hand gently. He murmured in low soothing tones, in his best mimic of Brian’s accent. “Skidek part apham.” Or, “Yes, I speak Drowic.”

Brian groaned, leaning up the tiny distance required to kiss him again, slinging an arm around his neck and drawing it out, long and lazy.

“Why are you so well travelled? It is not fair,” Brian muttered, stroking a hand through his hair and looking at him with heavy eyes, lashes low. 

Kravitz smiled, leaving Brian to come back to himself as he broke away to grab his pants off the floor. He picked up Brian’s undershirt and held it out to him. Brian batted it away, disgusted, laying back on the table and shaking his head. “Oh, no. That is not happening any time soon.”

“Brian, I can’t have you wandering the stockade naked.”

“Do not worry, I’m not wandering anywhere.” Brian wiggled his fingers in a wave goodbye, eyes shut, trying to sink into the table. “I was somewhat out of practice, I believe, and now my legs do not work.” 

Kravitz sighed, glancing at the entrance to the hall. There shouldn’t really be anyone present in the stockade. There were no other reapers and her majesty was attending business in another plane. He could never predict how long that would take, though, and he was fairly sure She’d want words with him if She came back to see a naked drow sprawled on the grand dining table, Her fine crockery scattered around him.

Kravitz made a sharp scooping gesture and all their things disappeared from the floor. Chairs tucked back in with a scrape, place settings shuffled back into place around them. He picked up his cloak and threw it back around his shoulders, fastening it, and walked over to Brian. Something flickered over Brian’s face when he saw Kravitz fully dressed and cleaning up after them, and he shifted uncomfortably, sitting up a little. 

“I was just joking,” he said. “I will walk, if you need me to.”

Kravitz realised, with a sickening drop in his stomach, that Brian thought he was going to be sent back to purgatory for being awkward.

Moving closer, he kissed Brian’s forehead, stroking his hair and setting a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. I’m going to carry you to my room.”

Once Brian had a chance to process that, he nodded and fixed a smile back in place, though it seemed a little uneasy with some of the lingering panic. Kravitz looped an arm under his legs and one around his shoulders, hoisting him up. 

Brian seemed, almost instantly, to relax. His head rested against Kravitz’s shoulder, his arms curled in his lap, and he leaned into him, eyes half shut. This was preferable to the table, he thought as he curled up tighter, cheek resting against the rumpled cotton of his shirt. He noted that Kravitz didn’t have a heartbeat. Made sense, but Brian felt a pang of melancholy in his stomach as he realised what that meant, and by whose grace he was still walking around. 

He wrapped a strand of Kravitz’s hair around his finger, humming to himself, glancing about when he was brought into Kravitz’s room. The door clicked shut behind them and he was set down on the cool sheets. Brian grinned, looping his arms around Kravitz’s shoulders when he tried to pull away.

“Let me get out of my work clothes,” Kravitz said, setting his hands on Brian’s wrists and easing them from around him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Brian murmured some disagreement, muttering in Drowic and stretching, yawning wide enough to show off his back teeth. He shifted, enjoying the feeling of clean, soft sheets under him and cool air around him. He moved under the covers, watching as Kravitz undressed again, setting his rumpled clothes aside in a basket and pulling on soft dark clothes that he had to dig out of the bottom of a chest, with the creases pressed into them from where they’d laid folded so long.

He came to the bed, shirtless, smiling to himself at the sight of Brian swaddled up in a comforter, white hair spilling out the top across black pillows, huddled in a small corner of the bed. Lifting the sheets, he clambered in behind Brian and edged closer, pulling the comforter around himself and wrapping an arm gently around his waist.

“Do you sleepwalk?” Kravitz muttered, opening an eye and noticing the angle Brian’s ear was sticking up at, smiling to himself and reaching up to stroke it back.

“Not that I know of,” Brian mumbled back, shuffling until his back pressed against Kravitz’s chest, head down with his arms and legs tucked in. It was so easy to put an arm around the whole of him, pulling him close. 

“Good,” said Kravitz. “You might scare someone.” 

“Rude,” Brian said, muffled through a yawn. “Who are you expecting to see around?”

Given there was only one other inhabitant of the stockade who was allowed to roam freely, there was only really one answer to this question. And he didn’t especially want Brian to run into Her, particularly not shirtless and dishevelled and unannounced.

“Nobody especially,” Kravitz said, fingers trailing over Brian’s arm, trying to remember the last time his bed had felt this comfortable. 

Kravitz didn’t sleep. Not ever, not any more. His body wouldn’t shut down like that. But he could relax with his eyes closed and let his thoughts settle. His mind eased into the soft tide of Brian’s breathing, the regular rise and fall of his shoulders, and his fingers wove up and down his arm, lulling him into something deeply relaxed and peaceful.

His waking was less so.

Brian’s breathing became erratic. His chest fluttered, hitched. Kravitz opened his eyes to see the back of Brian’s head, his hair in tangles. Kravitz shuffled upright, watching over him. His outline was silvery in the dark of the room, the starlight of the permanent night filtering in through the windows. 

Brian twitched, face wrought up, lips quivering and fingers moving to weave something with feverish intensity. Kravitz leaned closer, setting a hand on Brian’s shoulder and brushing Brian’s hair out of his face so he could breathe clear. 

“Brian?” he murmured, voice gentle as he squeezed his shoulder. “Brian, wake up, you’re having a ni-”

Brian’s eyes flew open, starkly white in the dark of the room, waking with a harsh gasp and throwing an arm in Kravitz’s direction, fingers curled to claws. His palm glowed a bright desperate white, and Kravitz’s eyes went wide as a bang like the heavens falling echoed around the room. Brian had cast magic missile at the ceiling.

Kravitz grabbed Brian’s wrist, nails digging into the skin as he focused his energy on reversing the flow of the magic. His eyes were bright as he glared at Brian’s hand until the pool of magic in his palm burst and dissipated, the streaks of magic splashing harmlessly against the ceiling, bursting into a shower of sparks that rained down to the floor, bouncing and dying.

Kravitz breathed hard, teeth gritted, looking back at Brian who shivered in place, teeth gritted and hair flung over his face. He slackened his grip around Brian’s wrist just gently, leaning away.

“You. Had a nightmare.”

“It’s you,” Brian said, voice thick. “I thought. I... You sound different.”

Kravitz frowned a moment, before he realised he hadn’t put the accent back on. “Oh. It’s, uh. It’s fake.”

“What?” Brian’s voice swelled with so much emotion that it was frankly alarming.

Kravitz let his wrist go. “It’s for work. I put it on when I started and it just stuck, I’m sorry-”

Brian burst into a sob, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking, covering his eyes with his hands. Kravitz blinked, brain screaming so many different things at him as Brian screwed his hands up, body wound and tight, shoulders heaving with sobs.

“There there. It’s OK. I can put it back on. It’s... It’s alright.” He put a hand on Brian’s shoulder, patting gently.

Brian hugged Kravitz with enough force that the wind went out of him, and he was left leaning against the headboard with a wet face pressed against his shoulder, hair strewn over every bit of him and the sheets wrapped around them awkwardly. He put an arm around Brian, stroking down his spine as Brian sobbed against his chest.

“It’s alright. It’ll be OK,” Kravitz said,curling his fingers in Brian’s hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think we’d be spending so long toge-”

“It’s not about the accent you fucking idiot.” Brian choked on a teary laugh, looking up at Kravitz. “You scared me. I’m not used to waking up with people, I...” He sobbed again, knuckling at his eyes. “You know.”

Kravitz felt his heart clench when he realised how long Brian must have been alone for. At least a year, if he’d only just died. Alone in that cave with his pet spider. He’d seemed uncommonly sociable. There must have been something extraordinary keeping him there. Or maybe something keeping him from the rest of the world.

“I see,” Kravitz said, voice low and soft, noticing absently how low Brian’s ears hung, nearly brushing his shoulders. Gods, he was the picture of unhappiness. Kravitz pulled the comforter properly around the two of them and, after a moment of indecision, flicked his wrist. Another comforter flew from the chest, unfurling as it flowed across the room like it was caught on a hook. Kravitz caught it, slinging it across the both of them.

Brian stopped sobbing long enough to run his fingers over the edge of it. He sniffed. “W-what kind of material is it?”

Kravitz smiled, pulling it closer around them. It was heavy, warm, and smelled like the warm space between worlds.

“Silk, spun around wool from Pan’s own flock, dyed with oak galls and knitted on lady Istus’ own needles. The filling is first-shed raven down. It was a very extravagant first Candlenights present under my new employment.” He ran a hand over it, and noticed how Brian snuggled under it a little tighter. It was comforting in more ways than those that were purely placebo. Having three Gods’ favours crafted into the fibres, it had a healing effect, and helped him when he needed it.

“Because my lady simply does not know how to chill,” Kravitz added, revelling in the fact that it earned a burbley little chuckle. 

“Does she know other colours than black exist?” Brian mumbled against his chest, up to his eyes in the blanket.

“I think she lives in denial. If I tried to bring a chromatic scatter cushion past the portcullis I feel like it would incinerate in my hands.” He stroked a hand gently through Brian’s hair, watching as his ear twitched a strand off it. “Are you alright?” He murmured, watching him fondly.

“Yes. Quite. Just a fright.” Brian closing his eyes again, breathing deep. “It’s quite an adjustment. Being dead.”

Kravitz nodded. “It is. But you’ll be alright. It’s not so bad as everyone makes it out to be.”

“Your death is different to mine,” Brian said, voice muffled. “You have favour. Duty. I’ve got that still whiteness to go back to.”

Kravitz took a moment, nodding to himself. “You lived well.”

“Not well enough.” He shook his head, squeezing Kravitz tighter. “You don’t remember anything about your life, do you not? You don’t get regrets.”

“I would love some regrets,” Kravitz said, voice soft. “You have memories.” He stared at the blanket, swallowing, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I get to serve until I outlive my usefulness. And I don’t know how long the reaper before me lasted.” He didn’t know how it had ended, either. Probably when they had broken the rules. And Kravitz had quite soundly broken the unspoken rules. “You don’t want to live in the afterlife forever. Please believe me.”

Brian kept the peace a moment, letting it stretch out like a yarn being woven, stretched thinner and thinner. “It is hard not to want when the alternative is nothingness.”

“You didn’t move over all the way,” Kravitz told him, stroking his cheekbone. “That’s not the afterlife. We are the judges, we hold those unworthy of passing on.”

Brian glanced up, shifting under the blanket.

“You get to go again.” Kravitz said, grazing his fingers over his jaw. “We don’t hold you forever. Your soul recuperates in the sea, fixes itself, releases its grudges, and goes again.”

Brian’s eyes shone in the dark of the room, his hand tight against Kravitz’s stomach.

“Will I remember you?” Brian murmured, looking up to him wide-eyed.

Kravitz shook his head, just slightly. “If you hold on too tight you can’t go back. You can’t be anchored in this plane or you won’t pass all the way back. If everyone was trying to find each other the world would just be people desperately searching for each other, dying, and trying again. You have to go fresh, new, and wide eyed. How They made you.”

He could see Brian’s eyes getting wet, and stroked his cheek.

“I’ll find you. If you’d like.” 

Brian swallowed around the lump in his throat, nodding. “I’d like that.” 

“Try for a proper courtship this time?”

Brian chuckled, covering his mouth with his hand. “How will I look? Can I make requests?”

Kravitz laughed. “I can’t guarantee anything.”

“But what if I’m some hairy dwarf with a bad accent? You’ll take one look at me and turn around to find some other drowic hussy.” He batted Kravitz on the side. “What if I’m _ugly_?”

“I’ll take my chances,” Kravitz said, stroking his hair back and cupping his jaw. “I don’t think you could ever be ugly. You’re not cruel.”

“I burned off my sister’s hair when we were fourteen. Not entirely by accident.”

He looked so comically guilty that it was hard not to laugh.

“Maybe a little ugly,” said Kravitz.

He was so immensely affronted that it was impossible not to give a little chuckle.

“I suppose we’ll just have to make the best of it as you are now,” Kravitz murmured. Brian gave a tired little eyebrow wiggle. “Until next time. You’ll be sitting in a bar after a hard day and a dashingly handsome man from out of town will buy you a drink, and nobody else will seem to pay him any mind.” Kravitz smiled, eyes staring off in the middle distance. “And he’ll talk to you like an old friend. And it’ll ache, like old memories do. And maybe you’ll be happy with him.”

Kravitz looked down at Brian with glassy eyes. 

“Maybe we’ll be happy.”

Brian fell asleep with his head resting against Kravitz’s chest, listening to hopes for another life, and the life that the stranger in the bar would lead with his lover. And when he drifted off, his soul drifted away. He turned to white wisps, grudges and vices melting away, and when Kravitz woke up in the morning his bed was empty.

He dressed, picked up his scythe, and went to talk to his Queen about a three-headed bounty, with a grimoire left on his bedside.


End file.
